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May. 8th, 2008 @ 08:39 am Beauty Is A Form Of Violence
A Kind Of Form Letter


I sat in the wild dimness of the bar
in the beatnik circus, to see the show.

Miniature spotlights wandered the stage
like a folk-rock prison break
for a thousand separate Tinkerbelles.

The songstress crooning was as thin as sex,
and she played guitar like changing trains
to jilt lovesick conductors.

She was pure, but a crooked pure
like Joan of Arc on heroine.

But the thing that struck me most about her
was that her beauty didn't sting.

Normally when I see a thing like that
I fold my poems into paper planes
and launch them at Venusian statues.

Eventually always my elbows give out.

But on this occasion it all just rolled through me.

I remember thinking that without a context
sexiness is a kind of form letter.

I guess that a drop-dead gorgeous stranger
just doesn't unlock me
like it used to.




Nicholas Moore (2006)
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore, Congressman Paul, army hat
May. 2nd, 2008 @ 03:07 pm May Day's Not For Lovers
Readers,

Yesterday was May Day, and we at the Size Matters Editorial Staff have noticed elsewhere on the blogosphere that many are calling for May Day to be rebranded as Victims Of Communism Day. We agree that this would be a good idea.

It has been said that a man who is not a socialist when he is 25 does not have a heart, but a man who is still a socialist when he is thirty does not have a brain. One of the things that the brainless man must ignore is history. It is widely calculated that communist governments, during the Cold War, killed 100 million of their own citizens. Stalin alone, in the gulags, killed 40 million. Pol Pot of the Khmer Rouge killed 2 million out of a 7 million population, in only 3 years.

The modern socialist will protest, No, that was communism. I'm a socialist. "Socialism" in this sense, is a vague idea, whereby the government has complete power to redistribute wealth, but, unlike it always has in realty, this government, due it's utter saintliness apparently, chooses not to take dictatorial political control of its people. (It's interesting to note that in America, before the horrors of Communism were known, this Communism versus Socialism distinction was not made.)

The reason why "socialism" as defined above is impossible should not be hard to see. Perhaps the most important distinction to make in political philosophy is the one between negative rights and positive rights. Negative rights are the "freedom from". Positive rights are the "freedom to". Another way to say the same thing is that negative rights are "Equality of opportunity" whereas positive rights are "Equality of result". Not only are these things different, but, as the bloody history of communism/socialism shows, they are mutually exclusive.

For the people to have freedom of opportunity, the government need only provide the people equally with "freedoms from", from murder, from theft, etc. To do this, as limited a government as possible is desirable. To give people equality of outcome, "freedoms to", to equal wealth, power, privilege, etc., requires that the government be given the power to redistribute the wealth. Thus, no one is to have "freedom from" government theft, so that others can have "from to" the fruits of that theft. Furthermore, the only way for a government to be able to decide what is produced and how much is consumed is to give them absolute power over society.

A government with this much power is many times more dangerous to overall welfare than the natural disparities that arise from a fair competition among people with unequal amounts of talent. In fact, in a free market a transaction will not occur unless it benefits both parties. So, despite whatever relative disparities, in a free market overall welfare will always be rising. But socialism, since it requires an all-powerful government, will always result in brutal dictatorship. Looking at the history of the 20th century, we find that this is exactly what has always happened. Not only were tens of millions killed by the government directly, but tens of millions more were killed in the worst famines the world has known, due to the inability of central planning to work economically.

We at the Size Matters Editorial Staff were all the proverbial socialists-when-we-were-25. But now, as we approach 30, we've come to understand the truth, that though the girl with the hairy armpits at the Free Mumia rally is appealing, the social structure that she probably supports has been shown repeatedly by history to lead irretrievably to mass death.

Happy May Day.



--The Size Matters Editorial Staff
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore, Congressman Paul, army hat
Apr. 18th, 2008 @ 02:38 pm Life Is A Stage. Eventually You'll Grow Out Of It.
Tom Cats,

To paraphrase Paul Erdős, Nick Moore is a machine for turning coffee into plays. And now his machine, along with that of his stand-up comedian brother Ben, is on The Scene.

Since Nick Moore quit drinking, he tells me that he no longer needs reading glasses, he understands quantum mechanics, and he can break a condom just by putting it on. I've been inspired by his example to start seperating my PCP use and my lysergic acid use into alternating days of the week. Another inspiration for this came late last night, around 5:30 am, when the ground started shaking, I heard a loud popping noise in my head, and then I started tasting colors in black-and-white.

So come to the Bloomington Playwrights Project tonight at 10 PM! It's free! And there will be graphic descriptions of adult situations!




--Tom

ADDENDUM: I assume that everyone has been keeping up with Ben & Nick In The Aisle! People who read it in print might have notice that the February issue never came out. But, it's online, so if it's still snowing in your heart, then it's not too late to revisit your Oscar Fever.
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore, Congressman Paul, army hat
Apr. 16th, 2008 @ 08:59 am Various Poems.
Happy Poetry Month, Fuckers! )
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore, Congressman Paul, army hat
Apr. 10th, 2008 @ 09:04 am Philosophy is the art of thinking about mistakes.
Philosophy Major's Love Song


It's so Socratic
how you bungle my brain.

My thoughts are gold bullets.

Your body's their bang.

It's, oh, so Socratic
how you bungle my brain.

Wittgenstein said that the world
is all that is the case.

But he wasn't on your case, babe.

Even he couldn't parse your grammar.

It's so Socratic
how you bungle my brain.

Plato spoke of men in caves
chained-up and only seeing shadows.

But they didn't see your silhouette.

It would have been worse than the sun.

It's, oh, so Socratic
how you bungle my brain.

Decartes had a demon who played some tricks
made him doubt that he even existed.

But his demon wouldn't have scared you,
baby.

You're as solid as religion.

It's so Socratic, oh, it oh
so Socratic.

You could have convinced Christ to kill;
you could have pilfered Sartre's free will.

And one last thing:

it was Aristole
who spoke of an Unmoved Mover.

He spoke of an Unmoved Mover,
baby.

He had you down to a T.

It's so Socratic
how your bungle my brain.

My brain's in a vat.

You're in it, like fangs.

It's, oh, so Socratic
how you bungle my brain.




Nicholas Moore
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore, Congressman Paul, army hat
Apr. 3rd, 2008 @ 11:27 am The Debate Continues!
Fans,

Surely you remember a couple posts ago, when a plucky Socialist known as [info]mujeresliebres engaged the proudly Libertarian Size Matters Editorial Staff in a lively debate on various topics. We thought we had all but vanquished her, but then she came back swinging with this post in her own journal. In the interest of ending this debate sometime before Jesus comes back, we'll try to respond to each point as briefly as possible.


(1) (blah, blah, blah, slaves)

Okay. Regardless of the details. Nothing you've said disproves the fact that slavery was eventually abolished in the entire Western Hemisphere, and only in the US and Haiti did it involve military action. Furthermore, this whole discussion ignores the fact that Lincoln was a white supremacist that openly said that he would free all the slaves or none, whatever it took to preserve the Union (i.e. the supremacy of his centralized authority).

and for the final time wouldn't the government buying off the slaves be an example of government interference into the economy - something Ron Paul would want to avoid?

Stopping burglary and economic fraud are also "interferences in the economy", but, since these interferences protect property rights, they are justified from a Libertarian perspective. Since everyone's body is also his or her property, ending slavery is also a justified interference.

(2) ...Furthermore increased mechanization clearly causes unemployment. What do the assembly line workers do when they are replaced by a machine?

This is a very important fallacy. We'll let Milton Friedman explain:

"In fact, all of the progress that the US has made over the last couple of centuries has come from unemployment. It has come from figuring out how to produce more goods with fewer workers, thereby releasing labor to be more productive in other areas. It has never come about through permanent unemployment, but temporary unemployment, in the process of shifting people from one area to another.

When the United States was formed in 1776, it took 19 people on the farm to produce enough food for 20 people. So most of the people had to spend their time and efforts on growing food. Today, it's down to 1% or 2% to produce that food. Now just consider the vast amount of supposed unemployment that was produced by that. But there wasn't really any unemployment produced. What happened was that people who had formerly been tied up working in agriculture were freed by technological developments and improvements to do something else. That enabled us to have a better standard of living and a more extensive range of products." (source)

...New Jersey and Michigan both pay $7.15 but NJ has a 4.5% rate and Michigan is at 7.1%. ... (etc.)

These comparisons are completely meaningless. Minimum wage laws cause unemployment to occur for anyone who's labor is worth less than the minimum wage. Since the number of people that happen to be worth $7.15, and how many employers they are worth that to, almost surely differs from place to place, the disparities you mention prove nothing except that different places have nonidentical economies. We promise you that in a given area, if you raise the minimum wage, you will raise unemployment over what it would have been otherwise. Can you deny that raising the minimum wage to a hundred dollars an hour would cause unemployment?

(3) ...Men as a group do benefit from patriarchy. ...A man walking down the street doesn't typically fear being raped...

Men are more likely to be rapists than women are, because men, biologically, tend to be bigger, stronger, and more aggressive. This is not society's fault. Claiming it is implies that all men are programmed by society to be potential rapists, in order to collectively control women. Some people have no problem with this doctrine, but those people are being sexist.

(4) If people think abortion is murder, then they will never accept scientific data, they believe that the fetus has a soul and that's the end of it.

We think that there are rational arguments to be made against abortion. If Pro-choice people ignore this fact, then they are being just as religious as the worst Pro-Lifers.

The question is of course agency, a full grown woman has the ability to make choices and her personal autonomy trumps that of the fetus.

We would say that there is a certain level of self awareness that is required for a being to be considered a holder of rights. However, what of the fact that a fetus, unlike other nonaware things, has the potential to develop into such a being?

Currently, our favorite discussion of abortion is Walter Block's (PDF version). He comes to essentially a pro-choice position, while simultaneously maintaining that fetuses do have some rights.

* * *

Well, we weren't as brief as we had hoped to be. But we're confident that this debate will still end before Jesus comes back, as we at the Size Matters Editorial Staff are all devout atheists.


-- The Size Matters Editorial Staff


EDIT: [info]mujeresliebres responds here (plus Closing Statements).
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore, Congressman Paul, army hat
Mar. 30th, 2008 @ 08:22 pm Drugs, I would say, are booster rockets.
Ex-girlfriends


The last cigarette I had
happened five years ago.
It exited my lungs

like a Chinese word balloon
in a strip club
in Fort Wayne, Indiana.

The last drink I had
happened four days ago.
It felt like Satan's

scuba gear.
If cigarettes and alcohol
are my ex-girlfriends

then I would say
that the sex was great
but we were always fighting.

I'm sorry God
for all the poems
I've made about booze.

And I forgive you God
for all the booze
you've made about poems.




Nicholas Moore (March 30, 2008)
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore, Congressman Paul, army hat
Mar. 25th, 2008 @ 02:20 pm Ziggy says that there's an 50% chance that you're immortal.
Readers,

If you're like us here at the Size Matters Editorial Staff, then the knowledge of the inevitability of your own death can be downright boner poison. But, while philosophically speaking there is still absolutely no good reason to believe in "the God bullshit"*, there is however a somewhat convincing case to be made that you, gentle reader, are mildly immortal.

If you like reading about metaphysics as much as we do, then you ought to check out Allan Randall's homepage. It's named "Elea", after the hometown of 5th-Century-BC Greek Philosopher Parmenides of Elea. We've still got a lot of reading to do, but the general idea seems to be, according to Randall, that Quantum Mechanics shows us that there are multiple universes, and that Parmenides predicted this way back in ancient Greece.

How many multiple universes are there? A lot. In fact, everything that can imaginably happen does happen, in one or another of these ever-branching parallel universes. (There was a Star Trek The Next Generation episode about this. No, not the one where Data gets laid. A different one.)

Anyway, the theory of Quantum Immortality says that it is a matter of probability which universe you end up in at any given moment. There is a universe for example wherein the Stay Puffed Marshmallow Man is about to appear in front of you and start kicking ass. But the number of universes where that happens is so much smaller than the number of universes where it doesn't that you surely won't end up in one where it does. (But a perfect copy of you will.)

But here is the kicker: no matter what universe you end up in, in the next moment, it always has to be one in which you are alive. The ones that you're dead in are inaccessible to you. (So goes the theory.) So, literally, if you were to hold a gun to your head right now and pull the trigger, (according to this theory mind you) you would have to survive. There would be a misfire or something, but you would necessarily end up in one of the universes where something intervened to save you. However, in a great many universes, your friends would still experience you as having successfully committed suicide. Each of us, in this theory, is only immortal from his or her own point of view.

Randall speculates that Quantum Immortality doesn't actually make us entirely immortal. In his view, it protects us from dying in accidents. But once you get old enough, it would take such a big miracle to save you that it's far more probable that you'll just quantum leap into a version of the universe where only your brain exists, and then you'll just have incoherent dreams for the rest of eternity. If we're reading him right, the reason for this is that, due to probability, it is always the least unlikely miracle that saves you. And once you get old enough it would take a constant repetitious violation of the laws of thermodynamics to save you, and quantum leaping you to a universe where only your brain exists becomes the cheapest miracle at that point.

However, if it's at all possible that death will be cured by medical means within your lifetime, then Quantum Immortality will insure that you end up in a universe where that happens. At least, that's the idea.

In any case, we at the Size Matters Editorial Staff would like to take this opportunity to publicly apologize to you, Dear Reader, for not being able to make it to the reality in which you're immortal.


--The Size Matters Editorial Staff







* If you haven't see the movie Network, then, frankly, that makes us "as mad as hell, and we're not going to take it anymore!"
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore, Congressman Paul, army hat
Mar. 24th, 2008 @ 03:00 pm A hot Easter.
Mirages All Day


Today it is hot and sunny,
as my car and I are pressing
toward water that puddles the way,
always up ahead,
always evanescing.
There’ve been mirages all day.

At the station I slide the nozzle
inside my Honda’s rump,
in a very sexy way.
I dream of faraway fuel.
I forgot to turn on the pump.
There’ve been mirages all day.

A blond drinking coffee waives
at me from a passing street.
I taste the Chardonnay
she will drink on her honeymoon nights.
She wasn’t waiving at me.
There’ve been mirages all day.

They tell me tomorrow is Easter,
when saccharine behavior,
and children taught to pray,
will raise the rotting keister
of our smiling savior.
There’ve been mirages all day.




Nicholas Moore
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore, Congressman Paul, army hat
Mar. 18th, 2008 @ 11:23 pm Rain, rain, stay, stay, stay. Wet and alive, we'll die someday.
Some Dialogue, Then Fade To Black


I write these lines as raindrops smear
across my eyeballs as I peer
into the crystal strings of sea
and find a movie house marquee.

(The blood bank’s where I sell my heart,
but theaters make a church of art.)

My father’s ghost was seated there.
The theater’s seats were all but bare.

His briefcase and umbrella stored,
he looked with boyish beaming toward
the flicker and the dance of light
plucked by a silver screen from flight.

He held his old fedora’s beige,
as if in honor of an age.

His discount cigarettes were crinkled,
as were his oculary wrinkles.

We sat in darkness watching as
the movie proffered life’s pizzazz.
In movies love is a righteous fight.

The film displayed a brilliant night,
an inky story-high arena,
sprinkled with those bright subpoenas
that poets tend to try to reach.

My heart careened; I touched Dad’s sleeve.

“Father,” I said, “I need to write
a poem so full of teary might,
it blows apart asylum doors,
and frees all prisoners of war,
and gives my lover back her sight.”

The movie showed, in black-and-white,
our hero kiss the gal he held.

The orchestration sang and swelled.

My father, dewy-eyed and still,
said, “Son, the answer, if you will,
is that we’re in your poem right now.
It’s all a demonstration how
life is played on fading screens.
And so, my boy, enjoy your scenes.
For if we got to keep out years,
then poets wouldn’t need their tears.”
Then standing, suitcase full of meds,
umbrella opened overhead,
he started to dissolve like snow,
just like a movie’s last tableau.

I didn’t want for him to go.

Embracing him, I cried out, “Where
am I to go?” He wasn’t there.

I was alone with tinsel lies.
But then I heard his voice advise,

“Just stage a picturesque campaign.
And try to never choke on rain.”




Nicholas Moore
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore, Congressman Paul, army hat
Mar. 5th, 2008 @ 10:32 am My Swimmers Use The Chubby System
Apparently an outfit called Rooftop Comedy was holding a stand-up competition at the FancyPanties Room of the Student Union last night. There was no entry fee, but one had to be a student, so really the entry fee was eighty-thousand dollars. So, while I was ineligible, they let me do a few epiphenomenal minutes at the top and the bottom of the show. My act was really honed on a much drunker version of this demographic, so I probably shouldn't have closed with a 10-minutes version of The Aristocrats. However, I got a free t-shirt, and at least one journalist commented that my cologne smelled liked bourbon. I couldn't help but feel a small sense of pride when I saw the winning contestants amassed together on stage at the end, poised to take on Butler University's stand-up team in an upcoming round. May our enemies know us by the trail of our dick jokes.

In other news, I heard that the Local Planned Parenthood was giving out free morning-after pills in honor of Spring Break. Now, like your average smolderingly eligible bachelor, I have on the rare and highly memorable occasion "opened my umbrella indoors". So I thought it would be a handy thing to have around. However, upon strolling in there after work yesterday, I was informed that they were "all out". I can only assume this was a lie, in accordance with Planned Parenthood's policy of not giving emergency contraception to anyone wearing a t-shirt that says "Free Scott Peterson". Next year I plan to use their prejudices against them, by showing up to free contraception day disguised as Mrs. Doubtfire. Until then I guess I'll just have to hold in the ol' Sizemore sauce. Luckily, for society, I've got a washboard taint.




--Tom
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore, Congressman Paul, army hat
Feb. 29th, 2008 @ 12:51 am I forget what the fancy thing is I did here.
Where My Ride Is



I'm holding bowling shoes and frowning;
my phone calls home just ring and ring.
Elsewhere my ride is sleeping soundly,
while dreaming about a blowjob on a spaceship.

My phone calls home just ring and ring.
My ice cream's melting and I'm drunk.
While dreaming about a blowjob on a spaceship,
my ride begins to masturbate.

My ice cream's melting and I'm drunk.
I wonder if this is a bad part of town.
My ride begins to masturbate,
while smoking pot and eating Grape-Nuts.

I wonder if this is a bad part of town.
The bowling alley just turned out more lights.
While smoking pot and eating Grape-Nuts,
my ride speeds toward me, with his parking brake on.

The bowling alley just turned out more lights.
The rain is washing away my face paint.
My ride speeds toward me, with his parking brake on.
My ride collides with some other guy's ride.

The rain is washing away my face paint,
as I hear some sirens in the distance.
My ride collides with some other guys ride.
He hits and runs: he has no insurance.

As I hear some sirens in the distance,
my ride collides with the bowling alley.
He hits and runs: he has no insurance.
I'm holding bowling shoes and frowning.




Nicholas Moore
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore, Congressman Paul, army hat
Feb. 27th, 2008 @ 08:12 pm Dance with the drink that you ordered.
By Way Of The Booze Store


1.
Gin is television, but whiskey is rent;
the salt on my thumb is tequila's pimp.

Rum's a vacation, but vodka's a heist;
beer is the cowboy shotgun of Christ.

Wine is a waltzing, spun red evermore;
my black-out's a waitress who's serving me floor.

Wine is a waltzing, forever spun red;
my vomit's a fire alarm for my head.

My heart is a punch bowl kept under your bed.


2.
Whiskey is a woman that walks like she's dancing,
and she loves me like it's New Year's Eve.

Love is a kingdom escaped on the loose;
bourbon is the beverage that wears like a noose.

Noah is drowning and death is a flood;
liquor is a lover that comes in your blood.

By way of the booze store, I'm bound for the floor:
a wrinkled collection of dress clothes and gore.

When I was young, alcohol was a horny unicorn
that I rode toward what I assumed was a castle
full of bathing maidens.

Now that I'm older, alcohol is the wallpaper of a room
where ice cubes float in a golden reservoir

and I let go of my memories

(like the virginities of a thousand lifetimes).




Nicholas Moore
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore, Congressman Paul, army hat
Feb. 21st, 2008 @ 12:05 pm A Political Rant
Don't Vote

"Democracy is just mob rule dressed up in a sports jacket."

--Doug Casey


In the film The Last Boy Scout (which I loved, though I believe it bombed at the box office), Bruce Willis's character has a habit of approaching people who have wronged him, and asking "Head or gut?" If the person so approached is familiar with this protocol, they will respond either "head" or "gut", and that body part will be punched really really hard. If the contestant answers with confusion, then both pieces of anatomy receive the punishment.

This reminds me of another film, Good Will Hunting. The titular character Will recounts an experience during his childhood, wherein he is given the choice, by his father, of being beaten with a stick, a belt, or a wrench. He chooses the wrench. When asked by his therapist why, he responds, "Because fuck him, that's why."

Which brings me to the topic of the impending Presidential election. It ambles inevitably toward us like Jason Voorhees. The idea is that we, the people will exert our collective will upon the government on Nov. 4th, and thereby be better off because of it.

Typically, the Left will vote for whomever they reckon will spend the people's confiscated money benevolently (trusting the same government to fight the War on Poverty that they rightfully don't trust to fight the War on Terror) and the Right will vote for whomever they reckon will spend the people's confiscated money aggressively (trusting the same government to fight the War on Terror that they rightfully don't trust to fight the War on Poverty).

Milton Friedman once said (I'm quoting from memory) "Capitalism creates unanimity without conformity, whereas democracy creates conformity without unanimity." In a free market, in other words, we all get the color of car that we want (unanimity), whereas if we all voted on which was the best color and imposed it by law, then we'd all end up with the same color of car (conformity). It should be added that, under capitalism, this unanimity is under persistent real-time revision. Companies, employers, and employees are in constant mortal danger professionally, should they not keep pace with the whims of their real bosses, which are the customers. Compare this with the Will of the People Doctrine, which supposedly allows us to "control the government" by electing an increasingly powerful President every four years, while choosing between two people that are so deplorable that already only half of the eligible voters even bother to participate.

What the two movie scenes that I mentioned at the top have in common is that they both involve violence. Not only that, but both involve the victim of said violence being asked to participate in the administration of his own abuse.

Personally, I plan to vote for Ron Paul in the primaries, and then sit home during the general election trying to dull the pain with the most punishing election-coverage drinking game that I can construct.

I've seen a t-shirt that says, "If you don't vote, then you can't complain." I would say that the ultimate complaint is constituted by refusing to acquiesce to a sham. When someone asks you, "Head or gut?", the appropriate response is, "Fuck you."




--The Size Matters Editorial Staff
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore, Congressman Paul, army hat
Feb. 19th, 2008 @ 10:50 am You've Seen The Continent, Now Read The Poem!
Dear Mr. Moore,

We are so proud to inform you that your poem "Europe" has been selected by the editorial board of Shakespeare's Monkey Revue and has earned honorable mention for the 3rd Simian Award. This means that we will be publishing your poem in our third issue of the Revue due out in April so you'll receive 5 copies of that issue, and subscription for one year.

Congratulations, and thank you for your wonderful poems.

Warm Regards,
Stephan Anstey, Publisher
Shakespeare's Monkey Revue


Hot dog! The literary gem in question is here. And here is Mr. Anstey discussing Shakespeare's Monkey Revue on public radio.

Hey, Maddy, you were right. Whoopee!

I should also mention that my play for The Blizzard won the audience favorite award!

Everything's comin' up Milhous.

--Nick
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore, Congressman Paul, army hat
Feb. 14th, 2008 @ 12:44 am Just call me Freddie "Rerun" Stubbs.
The Best Of Romantic Haikus
(for your sweetheart on Valentine's Day)

by Tom Sizemore


1.
Valentine’s Day shows
me how much I need you. I'm
talking to you, booze.


2.
I never noticed
how womanly your scream is.
Oh, sorry. Wrong room.


3.
Your lesbian t-
shirt was an ironic thing
for me to come on.


4.
Your childhood bible:
also an ironic thing
for me to come on.


5.
Your moans of passion
sound like an audio book
read by Dennis Franz.


6.
You kiss like a dead
fish. But you are quite refined
at anilingus.


7.
I don't know where that
hot girl that works the drive-thru
ends and I begin.


8.
Your outlaw fingers
stole my heart --and all that stuff
from Radio Shack.


9.
I’ve thanked God for your
love. What does God want from me?
A fucking medal?


10.
Snow flakes gently fall
on me and my booty call.
You need a ride where?


11.
“Ménage à trois: a
kind of pastry?”; “No, but I’ll
be wearing pasties.”


12.
I’m sorry I lost
your number. It was taken
off by garbage men.


13.
My poems were a soft
kissing in her ears, up till
the rhyming dick joke.


14.
“I’ve fallen in love
with your glib haikus. Now I
want the rest of you."
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore, Congressman Paul, army hat
Feb. 2nd, 2008 @ 08:04 pm The One That Gets You RSVPed
blues or consequences


undone I teetered strange into fluorescent
strip clubs strange I teetered blue into
fluorescent strip clubs

she peeled my eyelids many times the pieces turned to dollars

my hangover a theme song electric
violins my breakfast was a violence of
blues and violins

hate speech last night fell like feathers from exploded luggage

grim reaper smashed his rolex and said go
meet the train his watch popped like blue snow balls
saying go and meet the train

in heaven a page torn from the bibles good for one free fuck




Nicholas Moore (2008)
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore, Congressman Paul, army hat
Jan. 24th, 2008 @ 11:58 am See, it's funny, cause Ron Paul really is an obstetrician...
Hello, friends.

The Blizzard went smashingly. Nick did one performance on sleep deprivation, and one without it. The former went the best. This goes to prove an old maxim of the theatre: "Acting is less an art, and more a form of body buzz."

If you didn't make it, well... who needs you! We sold out both shows anyway! There was much laughter and uncorked responsiveness, and when Nick took the stage in his underwear, several female ushers swooned like dying ostriches.

This cheered Nick up after all the depressing Ron Paul Newsletter kerfuffle. As far as I can tell, the Ron Paul newsletters could have been ghostwritten by Bill Cosby. Apparently, being pro-secession makes you pro-slavery; being critical of Israel makes you anti-Semitic; and referring to black carjackers and rioters in disparaging terms is racist. I hope James Kirchick gets diaper rash.

Speaking of career-ending offensiveness, sketch comedy show Anything After 10 has issued a very limited run of its historic third season on DVD! Very limited. Actually, so far, there's only one copy. If you don't stop to put on pants, then you might be able to catch it at the New Release Section of Plan Nine Video. I believe it's free with the purchase of a large slushy.



--Tom
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The Poet Nicholas Moore, Congressman Paul, army hat
Jan. 18th, 2008 @ 03:27 pm A Blizzard? In Winter!
Friends,

I guess it wasn't wasted, all the time I spent teaching Nick Moore how to act and beat up Heidi Fleiss. His acting career is vibrant, while his beatings of Heidi Fleiss range from theoretical to imaginary. Why not come and see him act in this (and next) weekend's short-play festival at the Bloomington Playwrights Project? Oh, come on. He also wrote one of the plays. And if you know Nick Moore, then you know that his playwriting is so good, it makes his lovemaking look like his acting.



Nick promises that tonight will be his sleepiest performance. Of all time!


--Tom
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The Poet Nicholas Moore, Congressman Paul, army hat
Jan. 14th, 2008 @ 03:05 pm Alphabet Coup
The Love Affair of E and G


The letter e loved the letter g
because in his quicker moods he was
ejaculatory like a sword
and in his browner moments he
glowered like a pot of boiling water.

The letter g loved the letter e
because in her assertive moods
she was a rollercoaster rider but
during more hesitant times at twilight
she made sounds
like some soft human engine
stalling.

Then there was the f of fate
between them:
an imminent snake, a gas leak, the
knock on the door before
"fuck you" enters.

G and e longed to abscond
together. They’d arranged it so that
their names were no longer
on the roll call.
Now they were silent letters.

Snow fell like dust on the library
the night that g got the telephone call.
"Pack your bags we’re leaving
tonight", said e.
"It’s time for us to be together.
Let’s get the f outta here."




Nicholas Moore (2008)
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The Poet Nicholas Moore, Congressman Paul, army hat